


Mechanical Failure

by windfallswest



Category: Hannibal (TV), House M.D., Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack Crossover, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 07:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16403981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfallswest/pseuds/windfallswest
Summary: If you lock three sociopaths in a box together and no one looks inside before they've killed each other, then all three are simultaneously murderers and murder victims.Three men, one elevator, zero interpersonal skills.





	Mechanical Failure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horologically](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horologically/gifts), [htebazytook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/gifts).



> So you know that thing where you're about to go to bed at a reasonable hour but you check your replies one last time and suddenly it's two in the morning and you've just written an entire crack fic?
> 
> Anyway, I blame this on horologially. And also htebazytook, because I blame her for everything and I was talking with her when I had the idea in the first place.

[SCENE: House, sitting with his legs out; Will, wedged into a corner; Sherlock, leaning against a wall and fidgeting or tapping a finger impatiently]

House, after three minutes: Oh, god. You're both analysing me. Don't bother denying it; it takes one to know one.

Will: I suppose it's too much to ask that we all sit quietly until they get us out.

House: Why bother? We're both shouting into your delicate, autistic brain anyway.

Sherlock: He's not autistic; empathetic. Fascinating. See how his posture changes depending on which of us draws his focus? Individuals with autism more often have difficulty connecting with others. 

Will: No, that's your problem, isn't it? 

House, snorts, swallows a Vicodin

House, to Sherlock: None for you. You're an addict. The bad, non-functional kind. 

Sherlock: Excision of the rectus femoris, maybe the vastus intermedius or vastus medialis. Not post-operative pain, too old; so it must be something more, but physical, or else you'd be in therapy, not on opiates. 

House: Muscle death from an infarction. Sorry, did I steal your punch line?

Will: Someone's defensive. The Vicodin might work better if you weren't constantly burning it off with that temper.

House: You're an emotional chameleon. Cool. Care to tell me what this one is?

House, gives him the finger

Sherlock: Childish.

House: Oh, like that sulking you're doing is real mature. At least dog-boy over there is legitimately traumatised. You're still trying to steal mummy and daddy's attention from big brother.

Sherlock: Do you really think that inflicting misery on everyone around you will make you feel better?

House: Misery loves company. Am I right, dog-boy?

Sherlock: Of course that's what it is. He gives others the understanding he's always wished to experience. 

House: Then why the obsession with law enforcement? Want lots of guns around when skinny-dipping into all those twisted minds finally makes you snap?

Will: That's some pretty entrenched deflexion. Do you really think highlighting other people's problems will distract them from yours?

House: Do you dislike yourself so much you'd rather pretend to be a serial killer?

Sherlock: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WILL SOMEBODY GET ME OUT OF THIS BLOODY LIFT?

 

[SCENE, Hannibal, Wilson, and John in the building security centre watching a monitor currently displaying Sherlock's nose and one wild eye]

Wilson: I know you're a therapist, but you need therapy.

Hannibal: I see a therapist regularly.

John: This _is_ therapy. Please tell me it's being recorded.


End file.
